


Strawberry Milkshake

by bettysugars_writes



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettysugars_writes/pseuds/bettysugars_writes
Summary: jughead jones is infatuated with betty cooper, who stops at pop’s at the same time. every. single. day.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper, Betty Cooper/ Jughead Jones - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

The all-too familiar mellowed ring of the Pop’s doorbell alarms me of another customer. Quickly, I jerk my wrist a few times to flip the array of burgers I’ve been sizzling, their smoke filling the retro diner in a pleasant-summery kind of way. The tops of the patties are a chocolatey hue with even darker grill marks to show a tender, thorough cooking. Satisfied, I set down my flipper and lower the lid on the grill to trap in heat. However, as I turn, I’m not prepared to see Betty Cooper, who’ve I’ve not had the pleasure of serving before. My work had started just about a week ago, and my hours have only just begun to increase. 

“Hey.” She smiles and glides to one of the red stools on the bar, vacant, as most of the diner is.  
“H-hey.” I can’t help but reciprocate her grin and fumble with my apron tie before walking over to her. “What can I get for you?”  
“A burger and fries. And a strawberry milkshake with that, please.”  
“Coming right up.” I walk over to the grill, open it, then instantly turn back around in embarrassment.  
“Everything alright?” Betty asks, picking up on my chagrin.  
“Yeah! Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just, uh, the grill can only fit four burgers, and there’s already four on there, and you just asked for one, and I forgot that it was already stocked and I just feel bad because now you have to wait...” I trail off carelessly, knowing I was rambling.  
She giggles and my spine prickles, enticed at the heavenly jingle. 

“That’s alright!” She says. “You can just fix the milkshake and then...I don’t think I’ve seen you around before...Jughead.” She grins as she reads my name tag. “We can get to know each other.”  
“Sounds like a plan.” I hold my grin back until I’m safely beneath the counter to gather a glass, then let it loose.

I put my best effort into her vibrant pink shake and as she takes it, her fingertips brush mine. I can smell her floral perfume, with just a hint of vanilla. It’s enough to make me weak in the knees. 

“So, Betty Cooper, what’s going on in the world of pure perfect?” I ask.  
Instead of another chuckle, her grin fades and she rolls her eyes. “It’s not as perfect as you may think.”  
I raise my eyebrows, bewildered and suddenly interested. “Why is that?”  
“My mom,” she sighs, spinning the straw around. “She wants me to be as town perceives: perfect, happy, sweet, kind to every living soul no matter how wrong I or anyone was done by them. To have perfect grades and be with a perfect guy. But that’s not who I am. I’m just so sick of pretending. Why be someone who I’m not? Because it would tarnish the Cooper reputation, that’s why. It’s horrible for me. And my mom, she just...doesn’t care one bit.”

I’m actually flabbergasted at this news. I immediately regret my words from before, despite knowing that she was used to it. Perfect should not be anybody’s normality, it’s dehumanizing and repulsive. I hang my head in shame, momentarily, and think of something to say. My tenaciousness ends when she apologizes.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I told you that,” she says. “It’s not like you care.”  
“Betty, of course I care! Obviously, I can’t relate to that but I have a family issue or two of my own.”  
“Do you now?” Her eyes sparkle like sea glass.  
“I’ll inform you as soon as I serve these burgers that are hogging up the grill.” I say.  
Her heaven-sent laughter returns and it fuels me enough to bun them, add condiments, and serve. 

“Alright, let’s hear your problems, Jughead.” She says, when I finally heat up a fresh patty for her.  
“Well, let’s see. My father is an alcoholic, my sister and my mother are in Toledo, and I’m not sure if I have any other living relatives.” I say this bluntly, however, not regretful. If there’s one person in this wicked town I can trust, it’s Betty Cooper. Her eyes widen.  
“Jug! My problems are not even in the ballpark of a comparison with yours. I’m so sorry.”  
“It’s okay.” I mumble, not really finding energy to defy the untruthful part of her response.  
“No, it’s not,” she reaches over the counter and takes ahold of my wrist, rubbing a small circle into with her thumb. “I’m really sorry.”  
Her touch is not only tranquilizing but also fiery in a way. I feel both calm and aroused.

I love it.

She chows down her burger and fries, complimenting it through mouthfuls. We talk the whole time, even after she’s finished her meal and has moved onto a donut. I learn a lot about Betty-she wants to be an investigative journalist when she grows up, she loves reading, writing, and strawberry milkshakes, which she refuses to share with anyone. By the end of our conversation, it’s dark outside and my shift is over. 

I’m sad to see her go.

She returns the next day, and the day after that. I long for 4:00 now, at which she always promptly comes in on. We talk about everything known to man, sometimes sad, sometimes happy, sometimes even lewd (although that was only one time, when she expressed disgust when she walked in on her sister and Jason Blossom having sex). I take notice of how she gradually leans over the counter to talk to me, leering closer. One time she wore a V-neck sweater, allowing me to see a whole lot of cleavage and a minute amount of bra underwire. 

By the end of two weeks, I am totally whipped by her. Her amazing smile, the way her hair gleams at sundown, and the notes in her perfume. It drives me insane. I’ve worked up a nerve and I’m planning to ask her out. If what we were doing for days on end weren’t already considered dates.

It’s a rainy Friday. The sky grows darker earlier, as October nears, and dead leaves scatter the ground. Small remains litter the floors of Pop’s, fallen from boots and coat hoods. At 3:58, I go to the bathroom to touch up my hair and make sure there was no onion ring breading in my teeth or milkshake stains on my tongue. Freshened up and back behind the counter at 4, I hear the bell ring and a smile envelopes my face. One last adjust of the beanie and I turn around, flashing what I hoped was an award-winning, megawatt smile. 

It fades fast.

Betty stands in the doorway. Archie Andrews, captain of Riverdale High’s football team, the Bulldogs, is next to her, arm draping lazily around her shoulders. He walks over, dragging her to the middle seats on the bar. I feel gutted. Victimized and Omitted. Most of all, though, I feel regret. Regret that I hadn’t asked her out sooner, that I didn’t have big enough balls, and now I’m too late. 

“Strawberry milkshake, please.” Betty says sweetly. I can’t look her in the eye.  
“Two straws with that.” Archie smirks at her, who falters uncomfortably.

I hesitate. Betty doesn’t share milkshakes. I look at her.

She smiles, and it doesn’t reach her eyes.

_fin


	2. Chapter 2

I precariously wipe down the counter with a damp rag, my insides boiling but my face a cold, serious facade. The neon pink lights embroidering Pop’s windows reflect off of the watery swirls I paint on the counter. My anger flares up. Tonight was easily the worst night I’ve had in a while. I’m ashamed of being so juvenile when I should have just been brusque about my feelings. Betty wouldn’t be one to judge. Especially when she deems herself as so approachable, and with that much beauty partaking in her, she must get asked out a lot.

I wonder if her mom makes her say no.

My rage shifts to Archie. Perfect Archie. Jacked Archie. Dumb Archie. God, he’s dumb. I recall his utterly ridiculous answers in class, and how his jock buddies thought it was the funniest shit ever. His entire brand is repulsive to me. Yet, somehow, this is exactly what’s supposed to happen. Next I edge my fuming to Alice, then back to Archie, and circuits until I realize that I’m the loose end. I’m the problem. There’s nobody to blame but me. Maybe I’m not at fault either, but I’m wallowing in so much disappointment and letdown that it only feels right to be responsible. Besides, who would ever like me? I wear a crowned beanie. I wear baggy clothes. My muscles, albeit there, don’t come shooting out of my clothes. I’m not Archie Andrews. I let my disenchantment linger for a few minutes as I continue to close up the diner. I try leaving it behind.

I pull my sheets over my shivering body. The air-conditioning in my trailer broke, and it gets colder every night. The pillows almost feel damp, they’re so chilled. I lay patiently, stacked beneath blankets and covers to conceal warmth. I wait for my dad to come back from whatever bar he’s at. But, come midnight, and he’s nowhere to be found. I eventually turn over, not really caring when or if he comes home. I don’t wake up when he does. 

Betty shows up alone the following day, filling me up with such a warm sense of relief and tranquil that I could sink to the floor in satisfaction. Instead, I whip her up a perfect strawberry milkshake as she slides out her usual stool. I place it in front of her.

“No Archie today?” I ask, innocently.  
Betty shakes her head. “Football.”  
“I see. Well, there’s your milkshake, freshly made by your very own Jughead Jones.”  
I can only wish.  
She grins, but doesn’t dive in like she usually does. In fact, over our entire hour-length conversation, she only takes one sip. Taking a deep breath beforehand, I point this out to her. Instantly, her eyes go crestfallen and her inner corners go misty. Her hands raise to massage her temples. I’m about to apologize for what must have been an overstep, but she cuts me off.

“My mom,” she says. “She won’t let me.”  
“Why not? What did strawberries ever do to her?” I joke, trying to get her to crack a smile.  
It doesn’t work.  
“No,” she rolls her shoulders back. “She says, quote unquote, “I’m gaining too much weight and I need to cut back so I don’t become fatter.”’  
I fall silent. My eyes scan her body; luscious curves stuffed into a green turtleneck sweater. I’ve never heard a statement so wrong.  
“Oh my God, Betty.” I mumble.  
“She’s right, isn’t she.” Betty sniffs, her glossy lips turned out in a pout but sit tightly like she knows.  
“No! No!” I exclaim, unintentionally catching attention from a few other tables.   
“What do you mean?”   
“You’re not! You’re not-I mean, she-your mom, is wrong. She’s so wrong. Look at yourself, Betty, honestly, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Everything about you is so mesmerizing. Your eyes, they’re such a pale, captivating green. Your hair, the way it gleams, it enchants me. Your body, the way it curves, the shape is perfect. Why can’t you see?” 

I’m silent. So is she. My hands feel cold, but my fingertips are enflamed with embarrassment. She knows. She has to.

“I need to go.” She whispers. An unsettling undermine wavers in her voice. Then she rushes out of the diner. I’m left alone. I’m hurt more than yesterday.

Then it’s like she disappears. No more milkshakes at 4:00. Pop’s feels like a job again; a chore. I hear from someone that she has cheerleading practice now. I know her, though. And she does not want to be a cheerleader. In the rare occasion I run into her in the halls, she’s always with Archie, holding his hand. Sometimes, it’s her best friend Veronica, chatting excitedly. At least, that’s what she wants everyone to think.

My dad doesn’t come home for meals anymore. He crashes on the couch from twelve to twelve, then it’s like he doesn’t exist. I turn eighteen. And the day I turn eighteen, I only go to Pop’s to quit. To leave Riverdale behind. There’s nothing left for me. Nothing but the melancholy, empty shell and husks of people I thought cared about me. My body, mentally, is desensitized. I don’t feel anything. It’s not even just about Betty anymore. It’s the sleepy town I don’t belong in. Who else would’ve told me?

As I’m hanging up my apron for the final time, I hear the bell ring. I turn around. 

Betty Cooper.

She walks over to her stool and sits, her hands folded on the counter. I huff, facing back to the kitchen, but my face softens as soon as it’s out of her line of vision. I’ll never not love the energy that I feel when she’s in a room with me. And goddamn, did she really have to look so gorgeous today?

“Strawberry milkshake, please.” She mumbles.   
“I don’t work here anymore.” I say, and flush in mild embarrassment when I hear the cracking in my voice.  
“Please?” She asks.   
I scoff, but I’m already heading to the back to get a glass. My hands shake anxiously as I prepare her milkshake. The last milkshake she’ll ever get from me. I set it down and lean over the counter. Our elbows are almost touching. She thanks me with her eyes and immediately takes a sip. I watch the light pink froth slide up her straw. My eyes water.

“I’m sorry.” She says.  
“It’s okay.” I shrug.  
“I was scared.” She whispers.  
“Scared of what?” My eyes narrow. For the first time, I am mad at Betty Cooper.   
“Us.”

The wind blows outside. The sky is still a milky gray and lessens in contrast to the pavement. The windows aren’t frosted yet. But they will, be soon. I see my motorcycle through the foggy glass. My bag resting on top, ready to take off with me. But do I want to go? Yes. I do. I want to leave this rotten town behind. Home of cruel mothers, careless fathers. Home of callow stereotypes. Stereotypes that do nothing but break hearts and smear them into pieces of a dream. Every inch of myself tells me that this is what I need to do. 

One inch. An inch that smalls by the second. I smell flowers.

And when I kiss her, she tastes like a strawberry milkshake.


End file.
